


whatever a moon has always meant

by BeautifulSoup



Category: Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness
Genre: Family, M/M, Pre-Series, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulSoup/pseuds/BeautifulSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The New World is harsh and loud. Ben and Cillian get used to it in stages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever a moon has always meant

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into writing for this fandom!
> 
> Title from e.e. cummings' "i carry your heart with me (i carry it in"

The ship is loud.

Loud with the rush of voices and the clanging of footsteps on the metal walkways; with the whoosh and suck of the airlock doors opening and closing as the final preparations are made; loud with the rumbling roar of the engines warming, ready for take off as soon as everything is finalised.

Ben can hardly hear himself think. He stands near the pod he’ll be spending the next Lord-only-knows how many years of his life sleeping through the longest journey to wake up in paradise, and he doesn’t know what to do. Caretakers are running around with an intensity of purpose, passing by in a blur, and he wants to help, wants to offer whatever he can but finds he’s rooted to the spot, his back against the cold surface of his pod.

Because what if he’s doing the wrong thing? What if this is going to be too great a move, too big a step for them? It’s because of him they’re going.

“A new world.” Cillian says, his hand warm and steady on Ben’s arm, “a new _start_.” His voice is low but strong, and Ben hears him clearly even over the roar of the ship. He covers Cillian’s hand with his own, taking the back of his head with the other and presses their foreheads together. He breathes deeply, taking in the scent and feel of Cillian, firm and unyielding, the tang of anti-bacterial, anti-biotic, anti- _everything_ being pumped through the air systems almost overwhelming everything.

“0528 and 0529, Moore and Boyd?” The caretaker’s voice pulls them away, an older woman looking at them with a small, sad smile. “Are you ready?”

They nod in unison, and another caretaker comes over to prepare Cillian as the woman prepares Ben.

“Good luck out there.” She says as the sedative gets into Ben’s veins, acting so quickly he can’t even get out a “thank you” before he’s drifting, eyes dropping closed. The last things he thinks are _she’ll never see it_ , before finally, _Cillian_.

 

***

 

The New World is nothing like anyone expected. The hardness of it, the striving and striving just to survive, the need to rely on skills no-one has used for _generations_ , the learning and the striving and the struggling and the surviving and finally, _finally_ , the living.

But above all the _Noise_. The constant overwhelming _Noise_ everywhere, constantly, the Noise that sent no small number of men and women insane in even those first few months, that the rest of them had to grow to get used to or suffer the same fate.

It took a while for them to notice at first, everyone hazy after being woken up from nigh-on a hundred years of slumber, taking it at first just to be a side-effect of the sedative, and after that there was so much to be doing, so much to be getting on with that no one was paying anyone else much mind apart from helping out.

It took maybe a day or two, when minds started to ease into routines and pay attention to their New World that people noticed the thoughts of themselves, of their neighbours, started seeing pictures of themselves through others’ eyes.

Ben remembered it clearly, the first time he noticed. He was out where their farm would be putting up the frame for a rough timber house, one they could improve upon and make into a home as time went on, upgrade it from a physical necessity to an extension of themselves.

He was so happy thinking about it, _their farm_ and _their home_ and _together_ and _Cillian_ that his heart was swelling, growing so big inside him that he felt he might burst, that his face might split from his grin, and he felt Cillian looking over at him, smiling back.

 **Ben** , he heard, clear as a bell, and it took him a minute to realise that Cillian hadn’t said it with his mouth. **Ben?** again, and Cillian dropped his saw with a start. **How am I hearing him?**

**Loud, so loud**

And Ben heard himself, heard his voice but not his voice hanging in the air, in his head where it usually was but louder, so much louder, with Cillian’s mixed in.

 **Oh God what is this?** And **I can hear him I can hear me can he hear me oh god oh god** and, beneath that smaller things, less urgent things. **Hungry** and **before it rains** and **sawdust everywhere, never going to get it out my boot** and **need to piss** but over everything the panic of both of them, looking at each other paralysed and wide-eyed, thinking back at each other in a never-ending loop.

 **Ben** and **Cillian** and **so loud** ; then slowly **Just us?** then **town Town TOWN _TOWN_** and they started running, both of them together, the kilometre to the beginnings of the Town, still nameless, and almost immediately the **ROAR** of it sent them stumbling back as if they had run into a physical thing, the not-voices of four hundred men and women and children all talking at once, all shouting over it with their real voices, asking each other what was going on.

 **What the-** ; **if he says another effing thing I’ll-** ; **Cursed, it’s cursed** ; **God tests us, we must pass** ; **Mum? Mum?** ; **They’ll know, they’ll all know; She’ll be waiting when I get home**

But not just that, there’s pictures in there too, fleeting glimpses of their thoughts and imaginings and Ben turns red at some of them and looks away, but there’s something that dawns on him, something that grows in the back of his mind the more he hears the voices, all the different voices surrounding him, pummelling him, there’s something the same…

“It’s only the men.” Cillian says beside him, really says, and they look at each other.

 

***

 

They get used to it, gradually, enough for everyone to pull together and finish building the town. It’s easier for them, outside the town with just each other and the Hewitts when they visit.

It does take some getting used to, though. He’ll catch glimpses of Cillian, just snatches like **everything, he hears everything** and **so exposed,** then **naked** , then pictures of himself naked, more handsome and muscular than he really is, then images of the two of them pressed together, both naked, and he’ll catch Cillian’s eye quickly, then they’ll both look away blushing. It’s the natural progress of the thoughts of men, the paths thoughts take when you’re not aware of them, and Cillian catches him at it just as often.

It takes them a while to get back to normal, to start sleeping in the same room again. Hearing another man’s thoughts – another man’s _dreams_ – is more than a bit distracting when you’re trying to sleep.

“I can’t do this no more.” Cillian snaps one afternoon and marches over to him, and Ben catches a flash of something – anger? – in his Noise. He straightens up and takes a step back, holding his hands up, thinking **Cillian? What?** but before he can ask it out loud Cillian’s in front of him, reaching towards him and pulling him towards him roughly, then Cillian’s kissing him hard, his fingers digging into Ben’s arms almost painfully.

Ben stiffens, unsure at first what’s happening, but when he relaxes and puts his hands either side of Cillian’s face, thinking **finally** , he feels the edge and desperation leave Cillian, his Noise turning softer like a sigh of relief, and before he knows it his back’s against the wall of the house and Cillian’s fingers are scrabbling at his clothes, his Noise reeling with everything he’s missed and what he wants to do, and it’s so strange, it’s so _direct_ that Ben has to push him away, trembling with the intensity of it. The look on Cillian’s face mirrors his own, he’s sure, and he can hear the echoes of his own Noise rattling around in Cillian’s: **_too much!_**

“Cillian,” he says as Cillian takes a step back, “It’s not like that, I didn’t mean-” but he can see it in Cillian’s eyes, in his Noise, Ben pushing him away like he’d been attacked. He tries to push everything he’s feeling up to the surface, tries to show Cillian that he still loves him, still wants him, it’s just… “This damned Noise!” He shouts it aloud, punching the side of the building and catching his knuckle on a bent nail. He swears and drops into a crouch, covering his face with his hands to hide his tears of frustration from his husband. But there’s no point here, is there?

“Come here,” Cillian says to him, and the softness of it is what makes Ben look up.

Cillian’s dropped to his knees and is holding out his hand, and Ben can hear him berating himself in his Noise. He offers up his bloody hand, the tear a good inch or two in length. Cillian winces at it, then raises Ben’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles, just shy of the cut.

“I’m sorry, I was an idiot.” Cillian says, his Noise all the while churning **stupid stupid stupid** , as he wipes the blood from Ben’s hand with a clean handkerchief.

“No, stop.” He cups Cillian’s face with his uninjured hand. “It ain’t your fault, it’s this world.” He rests their heads together and smiles up at him. “It ain’t gonna change anytime soon, so we’d best get used to it sooner rather than later.” Before he can help it or say it out loud his Noise starts practically shouting **Miss you missed you Cillian miss you so much**.

In a moment they’re kissing again, softer this time, more restrained; their Noise less frantic, less pressing, and Ben _has_ missed this, missed the strong, steady warmth of Cillian against him, although they’ve been near each other, been living under the same roof, it’s just never been the same since they haven’t _touched_. He wants to stay like this forever, just the two of them together like this, but he pulls back before things get too much again.

“Better get a bandage on that.” Cillian’s voice is soft, almost disappointed, but Ben knows he can see the sense in pulling back.

It’s another couple of days, days of weaning themselves back onto one another, getting used to those particular tones of Noise, that they share a bed, share each other. It’s like their first time all over again, gentle and awkward but both of them wanting **so badly** to feel, to understand.

Noise, distracting at the best of times, holds them back. Ben almost flinches at the strength of feeling coming from Cillian, the force with which he thinks of Ben’s name and face and **LOVE** , and it’s not as if he didn’t know Cillian loved him before, but he’s always been so stoic that finally being able to see the _strength_ of his feelings almost brings tears to Ben’s eyes.

Every shiver that his hands and lips send through Cillian, he feels two-fold, feels his physical response and the reverberations in his Noise, and it’s like learning all over again, but with Cillian there below him, around him, it’s better than he could ever have expected.

They’re like teenagers again, kissing and touching and laughing and **once more come on once more** until they can barely move, their Noise twining together and spiralling until it’s almost a separate thing.

Everything’s easier after that: kissing, touching, sex, even just talking about the sheep, it’s like they finally understand this new world, like they finally understand themselves and each other.

 

***

 

 **Hungry** ; **lunch** ; **bread and cheese, we have bread and cheese** **for lunch** ; **Ben want some lunch**?

“Ben, d’ye want some lunch?” Cillian looks annoyed as his not-voice says it before he can offer, and Ben laughs at him.

 **Cillian** ; **hungry?** and he feels his stomach rumble, surprised by how hungry he actually is, sees Cillian smile at him as he brings over the box with their food. Cillian sits closer than is really necessary, and Ben’s Noise glows with pleasure at it, at him, almost seeming pink, and he sees how pleased Cillian is that _he’s_ pleased and in that moment Ben realises that this ceaseless Noise sometimes isn’t too bad.

He leans over to kiss Cillian, who sees it coming in his Noise, so they lean in together. Cillian’s Noise spikes, then settles, until their thoughts are entwined with each other **Ben** and **Cillian** and **love** and **never leave**.

 **Got to go got to go where is everyone** comes from over the hill in an unfamiliar voice, louder than anything and bright with panic **Danger attack help help help get help**

Cillian is on his feet before the rider is even over the horizon, his Noise throwing up asking signs at the urgency of it, the white and red flashes of men and women and Spackle. That was the start of the war.

 

***

 

Ben doesn’t like to talk about the war, or anything following after, but neither does Cillian so it’s alright. They’ve got enough to keep them busy, with the wheat and the sheep and this tiny, vulnerable human being they’ve got no idea how to look after.

Two young men, too young to have been through everything they have, alone and left to care for their best friends’ baby while trying to mourn those same friends and smooth over the guilt of their own actions, their own lack of actions.

 **Shoulda DONE something** he hears in Cillian’s Noise as he slips off to sleep, **shoulda stopped it** , but then, softer, **Todd** and **Ben** and **love** as he eases into sleep, Ben beside him looking at his face, his eyebrows drawn closer together than they ever used to in sleep, and Ben swears he’s getting lines there, as well as at the corners of his eyes. He reaches over and touches his face lightly, just until Cillian relaxes with a sigh and his face smoothes out of the frown.

Ben’s just dropping off, too, when there’s a wail from the next room and the soft bubble of baby-noise beneath it, **wet** and **alone** and **ALONE**.

 **Todd!** Cillian sits up just as Ben’s swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“I’ll see to him. You need to sleep.” Cillian looks up at him, groggy, and Ben sees himself through Cillian’s eyes; ragged and weary, dark bags under his eyes. He snorts. “You’re exaggerating. Go back to sleep.” He leans over and kisses Cillian between his brows, smoothing his hair back, and then Todd’s crying again so he goes through.

He’s getting quicker at changing him, which is a good thing because he had never realised how much babies _stink_. Todd’s Noise takes on a happier colour, and Ben puts him back in his cot, but as soon as he reaches the door, he hears it.

 **Alone** and **cold** and **ALONE** , so with a sigh he picks Todd up, feels his own Noise saying **heavier every time** , and takes him back through.

“You’re gonna make him soft.” Cillian grumbles from the bed as Ben climbs back in, resting Todd on his chest as he lies back down, but there’s a smile in his voice and love in his Noise.

“I’d rather have him soft than hard. There’s enough hardness in this world already.” Ben replies, but he can feel Cillian slipping back into his incoherent sleep-Noise. He sighs and looks down at Todd, sees his big eyes looking up at him. “Early one morning…” He starts singing softly, a song he thought he’d forgotten, and Todd starts to fall asleep. Ben watches him, watches Cillian; his strange, small family, thrown together from despair. It’s more than most of the other men have left, and he feels a surge in his heart as he knows he’ll do anything to protect it.

 **Protect** Cillian’s sleep-Noise echoes beside him. He places Todd down gently in the small space between them and closes his eyes, drifting off through the three-fold Noise and finding it comforting more than anything else.

 

***

 

The potatoes are firm and slippery as he cuts them, and he’s not even aware that he’s humming until he hears Cillian coming up behind him, singing along softly with him. His hands are steady and firm on Ben’s hips, his chest warm against his back, voice low in his ear as they finish the song. Ben can’t help from shivering at the feeling of Cillian’s breath against his neck.

 **Ben** and **soft** and **oh the feel of him** radiate from Cillian’s Noise, along with some pictures suggesting things that Ben would really not be averse to.

“Mmm.” He says, his Noise buzzing as Cillian’s lips press against his neck, hot and wet, his stubble scratching deliciously, and then Cillian’s pressed up against him harder, and Ben can feel his intention against his back. He’s just about to turn around and kiss him when Todd’s Noise comes close.

 **Again?** It says, exasperated, just as Todd peeks through the door. “Eugh!” He says, sticking his tongue out, and Cillian takes a couple of steps back and sits on a chair to hide his condition. Even though Ben can see it clear in his Noise he knows Todd won’t pick up on it.

“Ain’t you got sheep to be looking after?” Cillian’s voice is gruff, and his Noise rattles with **damn** and **nearly** and **how did folks ever end up having more than one kid?**

“Yeah, I am!” There’s a definite pout to Todd’s voice. “One of ‘em’s got stuck in the swamp and I can’t get it out.”

Cillian gets to his feet with a sigh and rolls his eyes. “C’mon then, we’ll let Ben finish with the dinner.” Todd smiles and runs out the door, and Cillian moves to follow. Before he reaches the door, though, he kisses Ben softly on the lips and says “Later” like a promise, and Ben grins and watches him leave. He watches them from the window, Cillian’s arm thrown over Todd’s shoulders, their Noise getting fainter.

It’s almost two hours until they come back, both covered in the swamp sludge and stinking. Ben gags and has to cover his nose and mouth with his arm as soon as they enter the house. Todd’s Noise is bouncing with their adventure, and he can see Cillian wading into the swamp towards the panicked sheep ( **sheep!** ).

“Both of you, leave yer clothes outside and bath before anything else!” He shouts, just as Todd opens his mouth to tell him about it.

Wasting water – wasting _hot_ water – is something Ben hates, but he has to pour them both two baths each before the stench abates, and it’s late when they get around to the stew. Cillian and Todd sit at the kitchen table in their pyjamas as they eat (their clothes left soaking in a bucket of water outside), all laughing together as Todd tells Ben exactly how they got so disgusting. Their Noise buffets together with **sheep** and **swamp** and **oh lord the smell** , but above all **FAMILY** comes through from all of them, and Ben feels so happy and warm and full he knows he could die happy at this moment. He thinks of what’s coming and tries not to let it show. He takes this moment, folds it up neat and tight and tucks it away in a corner, something to take out and look at later during the After that is quick approaching.

It’s later than usual when they send Todd to bed, deep dark outside with the moons’ light shining in through the windows. Cillian stretches on the chair, yawning deep and long, and Ben watches him; watches as his back arches and his shirt rides up, showing a swathe of soft skin and a line of dark hair, and his thoughts take off and spiral to earlier on, to Cillian pressed up against him with his mouth on his neck and –

“I can HEAR you!” Todd shouts down from upstairs, his Noise pink with embarrassment, and Ben laughs.

“You’d better go to sleep then!” Cillian shouts back, standing up and moving across the room to Ben on the couch, climbing on with a knee either side of Ben’s thighs. There’s a flash of indignant Noise and they hear Todd trying to will himself to sleep, and when Cillian leans down to kiss Ben it doesn’t last long because they’re both laughing. They pause like that, foreheads pressed together, smiling, until they hear Todd’s Noise descend into the nonsense of sleep-Noise.

Cillian’s skin is warm and soft under Ben’s hands when they slip up under his shirt until he can draw circles over his hipbones, edging his pyjama bottoms down ever so slightly. With a soft sigh Cillian bends down for another kiss, then another, until they’re all strung along together with lips and tongues and hot, shared breath, and Ben’s lying down on the couch with Cillian on top of him, heavy and warm and pressing against every inch of him, his Noise filled with the feel of him, of everything he wants to do to him, and Ben can only moan and tilt his head back as Cillian sucks at the skin of his neck and runs his hand down between his legs.

Cillian’s hands always seem to be exactly where Ben wants them, before even Ben knows where he wants them, and it’s more than Noise, he knows. Back on the Old World it was like this, Cillian always knew exactly what he needed, in bed and outside of it, back when they were young and whole and full of hope.

“Shh,” Cillian says, pulling back to look down at him, spikes of worry showing in his Noise through the red-purple haze of his lust. He kisses Ben on the mouth, cradling his face in his hands, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “It’s alright.”

And Ben feels it, feels the rushing of comfort and shelter and love, **love _love_** , and Cillian’s hair is warm and still damp under his hand, tangling in his fingers as he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him hard against him, almost crushingly as if he can pull him into his body and make them one single being, until Cillian’s moaning in his ear, gasping as he rocks his hips against him, his voice and his Noise equally muddled and flushed, his hands groping almost blindly until he’s got one down between their bodies, down touching Ben where he wants to, _needs_ to be touched, nudging his legs open, and their Noise is rushing around them, swirling and swarming until they can’t tell whose is whose, until it’s not Ben’s or Cillian’s but _theirs_ , two separate voices combining to form a completely separate and distinct Noise, like a choir harmonising so that the sound seems to lift everything around it.

Just as it all comes together, filling the room with them floating on top of it, Ben feels it shudder, feels that shudder come from deep within himself, and as he closes his eyes and shouts out, the harmony in the Noise fractures, detaches, fades until it’s just the Noise of two men again, breathing heavy and holding each other close, Cillian’s face pressed into his neck, Ben feeling his heartbeat against his chest, and he moves slightly until he can wrap his arms around him, moving his legs until they’re both lying comfortably.

Back to **Ben** and **Cillian** and **love** and **family** ; **damn** and **need to do this more often** , **forgot how good** , **Ben Ben Ben Ben Ben** , **still on the sofa** , and Cillian laughs and props himself up on Ben’s chest. He kisses him once more, slow and deep, before pulling him to his feet.

“Come on then, before the sun comes up.” And although they’re both tired and not as young as they used to be, Ben sees Cillian looking him up and down, half undressed, still a little dazed, and feels himself stirring at what Cillian’s thinking of doing, then gladly takes his hand and lets him lead him upstairs.

He’s woken by Todd stomping through the house, Noise raging with **sort out the morning chores myself will I?** and **If I was still asleep Cillian’d be thrashing me by now** ; **not fair** ; **never fair**.

Ben looks at Cillian, whose eyes are still closed, his face still peaceful.

“I KNOW YER BOTH AWAKE UP THERE!”

And Ben can’t help but laugh as Cillian’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“We’ll get the house in order, why don’t you go get some apples?” Ben shouts down, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice and his Noise. Todd’s Noise grumbles a bit more, but the door slams and his Noise moves away.

“We’ve raised a teenager.” Cillian says to him, eyes laughing, before what that means dawns on both of them, and **Two months** circles between them, lurking.

Ben takes Cillian’s hand, clutching it in his own. They both know the plan, what they have to do. It’s getting harder and harder to keep it hidden, to keep it secret from Todd, to keep the sorrow and the loss from their Noise the closer the day comes.

“It’s the only way.” Cillian says to him, his face tight, his eyebrows drawn together the way they are more and more these days.

“I know.” He kisses Cillian; a reassurance, but of what Ben doesn’t know. In two months this life and this family they’ve built for themselves in this New World that now feels so old and so tired will be gone. He doesn’t know if it will fall apart in tatters or all go up in smoke; doesn’t know how much of this life they’ll be able to keep once Todd’s gone, if either of them will even survive it.

But they need to, for Todd. There’s no surviving anywhere in Prentisstown, there hasn’t been for years. Or maybe the trouble is that all there is left in Prentisstown _is_ the surviving, nothing more.

Cillian swallows, breaking through Ben’s thoughts, brushes his knuckles across Ben’s cheekbone with a faraway look in his eyes, and sits up.

“Better check on the sheep.” He says, but his Noise is roiling with everything he doesn’t say.

 

***

 

“So, what’s on this New World?” Cillian asks, stretched out beside him and looking at him with an amused smile pulling at the left-hand corner of his lips.

“Paradise.” Ben says, although he doesn’t quite believe it. That’s what the leaders had said. A paradise away from the shitty, stinking planet they and the generations before them had fucked up beyond recognition. The blue and green marble turned brown and red with greed. A new start, a clean slate, one that humanity wouldn’t destroy because they’d learn from history, from the wreckage of a world they were living through.

“Sounds a grand promise.” Cillian drawls, unconvinced. His eyes are stuck on Ben’s, though, and the penetrating sharpness of them takes Ben’s breath away, and not for the first time.

“It’s a chance to get away from this shitstorm.” He can smell the smog from here, the chemical sting of it at the back of his throat even through the thick windows and the regulation air filtration systems of his tiny apartment. Cillian’s isn’t much bigger, or much smaller. Ninety percent of homes aren’t. His honesty catches Cillian’s attention more than the shining visions the church leaders had shown them.

“I did always fancy myself self-reliant, you know.” Cillian’s eyes sparkle even as his voice drawls. “Cabin out in the woods, cutting my own firewood, catching deer, skinning them, making love on a bearskin beside a roaring fire.”

“You don’t have to come.” Ben says, snorting and pushing his fist against Cillian’s bare chest. “I’m not even sure yet.”

The speed with which Cillian’s face turns serious takes him by surprise, the earnestness in the way he grasps at Ben’s hand makes his heart jump. “You ain’t going nowhere without me, you hear?” His voice is quiet and strong and there is steel and love in his eyes.

Ben swallows the lump that’s lodged in his throat all of a sudden, and nods. He keeps his eyes open and locked on Cillian’s as they press together in a hard, harsh kiss, anchoring themselves together.

He’s often wished for the ability to read Cillian’s mind, to be able to see what’s going on behind his surly, sullen façade, but he realises in that moment that he doesn’t need to. He feels Cillian’s thoughts in the way he’s clutching so tightly to his hand that it almost hurts, in the way he tangles their legs together. He sees them in the set of Cillian’s brow and in the storm in his eyes. He tastes them on his lips and hears them in his ragged breath.

They’re young, so young. They can do this, take a chance on this mad expedition to a new planet they won’t reach until they should be old men. If anyone can make a go of it, it’s surely them. He’d decided months ago that anywhere Cillian was would be his home. There’s nothing else for him here. There’s nothing else for either of them.

Ben feels his chest swell as Cillian’s hand slides down his side, bursting with hope and determination and love.

“To a new world.” Cillian mumbles against his jaw, and Ben gasps his reply.

 


End file.
